“Well said, Comrade,” offered the Admiral of the Fleet as he lifted up his glass to salute the originator of these inspirational words. Yet as Konstantin Markov took a sip of his champagne, a sudden thought dawned in his consciousness. He looked to his host and expressed himself.
“Excuse my forgetfulness, Igor, but in all the excitement, I failed to ask you one important question. Have you yet picked out an officer who’s capable of carrying out the type of difficult mission that you just proposed to us?”
Admiral Igor Starobin’s eyes sparkled as he answered.
“Why, of course I have, Comrade. Who else is more qualified that Captain Mikhail Gregorievich Borisov, who just so happens to be out there somewhere beneath the Baltic Sea at this very moment, displaying the type of death-defying bravado that has earned him the nickname of Lion of the Spetsnaz I”
Chapter Five
Sean Lafferty arrived in Edinburgh on a cold, rainy, windswept afternoon. He was met at the Waverly train station by Patrick Callaghan. Both men were in their late twenties, with similar slight, wiry builds, fair complexions, and mops of longish, straight brown hair.
Dressed in jeans, athletic shoes, and waterproof jackets as they were, one would have had a difficult time telling them apart from the locals. Yet it was their Irish accents that indicated that these two were definitely not native Scotsmen.
“Good afternoon to you, Scan,” greeted Patrick Callaghan, who had been waiting beside the tracks as the Brit Rail train pulled in from Glasgow.
“How was your trip?”
Sean Lafferty shouldered his green backpack and followed his fellow countryman out of the station.
“I’m lucky I even got here. There was a real gale blowing in Dundalk as we took off, and it was a miracle that my pilot was able to get us airborne.”
“For one who despises flying, that must have been a real terror,” reflected Patrick as he led them past the taxi queue, up the cobblestone ramp, and onto Waverly Street.
There was a steady rain falling, and neither one of them carried an umbrella. Yet this didn’t deter them from joining the line of sodden foot traffic that was headed uphill toward that section of the city known as Old Town.
It was as they crossed Cockburn Street that Sean looked to his right and first viewed Edinburgh Castle in the distance. The massive walled fortress was perched on a four-hundred-foot-high rounded mountain of basaltic rock that afforded it a commanding view of the city on all sides. A Union Jack could be seen fluttering in the wind from one of the tower flagpoles, and Sean contemptuously spat into the gutter.
“Ah, there she is all right,” commented Patrick, who was quick to note his countryman’s preoccupation.
“That structure has stood there in one form or another for over a thousand years, and in that entire time has only been taken by force but a handful of times.”
“I can certainly see why,” returned Sean.
“That mountain of rock that its set upon would have made an effective siege all but impossible. And even if an enemy managed to scale it, those walls that encircle the castle appear impenetrable.”
“That they are, Sean. I took a tour of the fortress just yesterday and was surprised to find the walls in incredibly decent shape for their age.”
Sean Lafferty pulled up the collar of his jacket and redirected his gaze to the line of ancient brick buildings that were perched on the street before them.
“How much further to the flat, Patrick?”
“We’ve only got a couple of more blocks to go, Sean.
The place is off of High Street. It’s not much, but the price was right and the landlord didn’t ask many questions.
Ironically enough, we’re directly behind the building housing the law courts and the constable’s headquarters.”
“Why, I feel safer already,” mocked Sean, who beckoned his escort to lead on.
A steep flight of stairs took them up to the so-called Royal Mile. This portion of the city was once the focus of daily life in old Edinburgh, and was made up of a variety of antique structures, many of which had stood here since the fifteenth century. As they reached High Street, they passed the gothic edifice of St. Giles Cathedral.
When his escort divulged that the church had originally been built in 1385 A.D.” Sean shook his head in wonder, for this was just like seeing a living piece from the history books.
A narrow alleyway took them to their flat, which was located on the third floor of a building constructed a mere two hundred years ago. The apartment had only a single room, half of which was filled by a stove, refrigerator, and a round wooden table with two rickety chairs. Several dirty plates and a variety of soiled silverware sat on this table, alongside an assortment of empty food tins and beer bottles. The rest of the flat contained nothing but a disheveled mattress that lay on the scuffed wooden floor beside a soot filled fireplace.
While Sean removed his backpack and shook the rain from his jacket, Patrick hurried over to get the fire going.
Quite happy to finally be out of the raw elements, Sean carefully scanned the room’s interior. An astounded look crossed his face as he noted a large poster tacked to one of the walls. It showed a lush green, sheep-filled meadow. A meandering brook cut through this peaceful, pastoral setting, while an arched estate home could be seen on the summit of a nearby hillside.
“Where in the world did you get this incredible poster of Cootehill House?” asked Sean.
Patrick held back his answer until the pile of kindling and dried sod that he had been working on was fully ablaze.
“Marie gave it to me when I left. She found it in a Dublin tourist shop.”
Patrick stood, walked over to his friend’s side, and added.
“Whenever I get homesick, I sit down in front of this poster and imagine that I’m back in County Caven once again.”
“Two months is a long time to be away from home, isn’t it, Patrick?”
“That it is, my friend. But as long as my memories are still with me, I can manage. Besides, I still strongly believe in the job that I’ve been sent here to accomplish.”
“And it’s a good thing for the cause that you do,” said Sean, who turned his glance away from the poster to directly meet the gaze of his associate.
“Bernard, the Doctor, and the rest of the members of the Brotherhood wanted me to convey their greetings. Marie sends along her love and apologizes for not sending along some of her infamous oatmeal cookies with me. I’m afraid the only bad news that I have to deliver is that Eamonn O’Neill was picked up by the Brits two days ago. He was crossing the border on his way to Armagh when they nabbed him. The last we heard, he was being held in solitary confinement at Long Kesh.”
Patrick Callaghan heavily sighed.
“That’s too bad, Sean. Of all the lads, Eamonn was always one of my favorites.”
“Mine too,” added Sean.
“But he knew the risks. It’s not his first visit to the Maze Prison, and it most probably won’t be his last. Rumor has it that it was the SAS who picked him up. They’ve been staking out the border ever since our successful raid on the armory at Newry. If the damned Brits only knew that Eamonn was the one who originally conceived that strike, they’d probably strip the skin right off his body.”
“I understand that we made quite a haul in Newry, Sean.”
“You don’t know the half of it, my friend. We came home with over one-hundred M-16 rifles, a half dozen Browning M-60 machine guns, and a 90mm M-67 recoilless rifle. We also pulled out several dozen.45caliber pistols and plenty of ammo.”
“No wonder they called back the SAS,” reflected Patrick.